I Saved You a Place at the Table
by chalantness
Summary: They never, ever leave each other while on a job, even if that means sitting in the car in the dark and reading under a flashlight to pass the time.


**Title:** _I Saved You a Place at the Table_  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** ~5,700  
**Characters:** basically the main ensemble  
**Warning:** Spoilers for "United We Spy"  
**Summary:** They never, _ever_ leave each other while on a job, even if that means sitting in the car in the dark and reading under a flashlight to pass the time.

**A/N:** A disturbingly high-pitched sound came from my throat when I saw Grant and Jonas's names on the page! UGH. And besides that… I couldn't have wished for a more perfect ending to one of my favorite series, _ever!_ This overly fluffy piece you're about to read is just my feels needing to be let out. Don't expect substance or a plot, really.

**I Saved You a Place at the Table**

He picks up Chinese for dinner on his way back from the lab, his stomach growling at the smell of honey walnut prawns and fried tofu filling the car.

Normally he would've called first to ask if Liz had any preferences, or sometimes even to see if she'd actually started on dinner herself (a highly unlikely alternative), but the answer's usually the same: no, she brought some work home to finish and got caught up in everything and, oh _gosh_, she's so sorry, did he mind picking something up for them instead? She always sounded so flustered on the phone, as if this didn't happen every week, but it hardly bothered him to pick something up. He cooks for them on the days he gets out of work at a decent enough time, and there are still those rare days where Liz cooks, either because she didn't bring home anything to finish or because she actually took a break from work.

He comes home to find Liz sitting cross-legged atop a pillow she'd set down on the hardwood floor of their loft, the TV turned onto CNN and the coffee table covered in papers. She'd clipped her hair up into this messy (sexy) bun and stripped down to her spandex shorts and tank-top, the rest of her clothes thrown onto the couch. It _is_ pretty warm.

"Welcome home, Jonas!"

She smiles up at him. He loves that, no matter how deep she is into her work, she makes it a point to greet him when he gets home. "Glad to be home," he replies, kneeling to press a kiss to her temple, and her smile widens as she turns back to the papers she's holding. "I brought dinner and Starbucks."

"Yeah, I could smell it before you got the door open." She says it factually, making him chuckle.

"You can smell plastic Starbucks cups?"

"Funny," she says.

"I know. That's why I said it."

She shakes her head, chuckles as she shuffles some more papers around and starts telling him about how crazy the toxicology reports they sent her. He loves it when she talks about things that fascinate her; her eyes sparkle and her words kind of spill out all over each other because her mind is, as usual, going a little too fast for the rest of her.

"Sounds cool," he says, and she smiles like she knows he's being sincere. "But are they crazy enough to keep you from eating dinner with me?"

"_You're_ crazy for even asking," she declares.

He kisses her on the lips this time, sets his hand over her thigh and feels her hand come between them to fist his shirt when his tongue darts across her bottom lip. She pulls away after a few seconds, giggling for no apparent reason as she twirls his tie around her index finger.

He goes up to their room to change into some shorts and a tee, tossing their clothes into the hamper before heading down again. Liz is setting up their dinner outside, the sliding door to the veranda left open as a light breeze passes through. It's still warm out despite it being close to sunset already, though it's a lot cooler on the veranda than it is inside the loft. Plus, the view is as beautiful as ever. It's still Liz's favorite thing about the city. He remembers how, before they were about to graduate from MIT, Liz said she'd wanted to live in the suburbs since it was closer to the environment she had growing up, though he eventually convinced her that living in the city would be less of a commute for her to get to work.

Moving in with _him_ had also been for the sake of convenience, and while it was probably unwise at the time since they'd only been together for a few months (long classes, multiple internships and occasional jobs of the more clandestine variety left little time for _dating_), two years later, they're in the same apartment and have something of a routine set.

He thinks they're doing fine.

"Alice says _hi_, by the way," he adds, Alice being the hostess of the Chinese restaurant they've become regulars at. She always slips them extra candies from the front desk.

"I'll call her later," Liz says, and literally like, two seconds later, her phone goes off. She picks it up from where she'd left it on the lounger as he sinks into his seat and drinks some of his Cool Lime refresher through the straw, watching as Liz smiles at whatever she reads and types out a reply. "Bex," she explains, sitting in the chair beside his.

"Is she making sure we're going to her brunch thing this Saturday?"

"She's making sure we know what we're bringing," Liz corrects with a laugh. "It's a pot-luck, remember? And she wanted to remind us not to bring Chinese. You know Grant can't stomach it."

"Darn," he jokes, snapping his fingers. "There goes my entire plan at making Grant look like a fool. Not that he needs my help in that department."

Liz laughs and gives him that _smile_ of hers that seems like it's only ever been for him, ever since they were sophomores in high school and he'd sprung that first science joke on her in the P&E barn and she'd blushed and laughed so hard that there were tears in her eyes. He pretty much knew from that moment that he _always_ wanted to make her laugh.

"You're such a dork, Jonas."

And he just smiles (_dork_ is a term of endearment between them), kisses her cheek and feels her blush as he mumbles, "At least I'm _your_ dork," against her skin.

... ...

He pulls up to the curb in front of the hotel at the exact second that Bex pushes through the glass doors, turning heads as her stilettos click against the concrete steps. It'd bother him more that people are always staring at his wife, if he were any less confident about their relationship. He actually kind of loves the looks she draws, the way she drops jaws and makes some of the most composed people stutter in her presence. It's _hilarious_, especially since he knows very well that there's so much more to her than her stunning looks. And, yeah, maybe the attention isn't always ideal when you're supposed to be blending in, but whatever. That's never once been the cause of any problems during assignments.

She slides into the passenger seat and leans over to slant her lips over his.

Well.

"One hell of a greeting," he says as he pulls back onto the road, voice gruff because, seriously. That was one hell of a kiss. He doesn't think Bex knows how to give any other kind.

She _smiles_ as she buckles herself in, the kind of smile that's always gotten him into trouble (the _best _kind of trouble), and replies, "Only for you," as she threads their fingers together over the center console. She's in a good mood, which means the job went exactly the way she wanted it to.

He lifts their joined hands and kisses the back of hers, says, "Good morning," against her skin.

She laughs a little and echoes the phrase back to him as her eyes catch the time on the dashboard. 6:30. Maybe that's early to a lot of other people, but when your schedules are as strange as theirs, it's actually a decent hour to be awake at.

They don't really live off of a constant routine, usually having to catch up on sleep between flight times and assignments rather than getting to spend a full night in a bed at the end of each day. Even then, they hardly ever stay in the _same_ bed. They have their main house in London where most of their personal stuff is, but they're usually moving between one of the many houses her parents have set up across the continents in order to be closer to job locations, and if there isn't one in the area, they drop a few hundred on a nice hotel room. Sometimes he feels as if their "real" house in London is the vacation home, because usually when they get to stay there, they don't have any obligations. Maybe a bit of paperwork, a few calls to answer, but other than that, they could do whatever they want: sleep in (him) or go shopping (her) or catching up on all of the stuff recorded on the DVR.

Eventually their bodies won't be able to handle this kind of lifestyle, so they might as well make use of their adaptability while they can, right? That's the argument she'd given her parents, anyway, the last time they came by the house.

And _those_ visits never seem to get any easier, despite what Zach likes to tell him. Joe and Rachel are _hardly_ like the Baxters. Don't get him wrong, though, because he knows her parents love him and everything. Bex has told him as much. They're just kind of intense sometimes, which he thinks makes sense since they're MI6, and honestly, he thinks he handles it pretty well. Zach and Jonas have always had it easier, because Zach's known Cammie's family for a while now and they've all met the Suttons. They're total sweethearts.

"What do you want for breakfast?" he asks.

"Anything," she laughs, using her free hand to mess with the radio. "I'm starving."

It's been hours since they had a decent meal, because no, airport food doesn't really count. Maybe he should've picked up something from a 24-hour place so they could eat right away, but they never, _ever_ leave each other while on a job, even if that means sitting in the car in the dark and reading under a flashlight to pass the time.

They like to be close to each other, just in case. It's not about doubting the other's abilities or anything stupid like that. It's just that, whenever he can't be right next to her on a job, at least this way it still feels like he's able to be there for her. The first time he waited for her and told her all of this when she asked why, she got all quiet and her eyes watered.

(That was the first night she'd said she loved him, and he's been doing _anything_ he needs to do ever since to keep it that way.)

They end up at a 24-hour IHOP that's practically empty, because it's just the two of them and then this couple and their three kids, and the employees. She orders red velvet pancakes and a garden stuffed crepe and he orders a breakfast combo that comes with basically everything _and_ more pancakes _and_ strawberry banana French toast. The waiter gives them this crazy look as he takes their order but doesn't really make a comment or anything, which wouldn't matter to them either way (what? when your work is as rigorous as theirs, you _need_ to eat a lot), and Bex just smiles sweetly and asks for extra whipped cream on her hot chocolate. Grant smirks, watches the guy leave as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

"Want some?" he offers.

Bex makes a face, which makes him. "I hate black coffee," she says needlessly, because yeah, he's aware that she does. He was just teasing.

Then she lets out this sigh and he watches as she finally lets herself look as exhausted as she must be feeling, leaning back in the booth as she and props her feet up beside him. He sets a hand over her ankle and absently plays with the little jewel on the strap of her heel, sipping his coffee.

"So, about the brunch this weekend," she starts after their food gets to the table, and maybe her voice sounds a little tired, but she still sounds totally excited at the thought of seeing everyone again. It's been a while since they've all been together, and yeah, he's also excited, so he doesn't mind talking about things like decorations and recipes and whatever while they eat. She's smiling at him the whole time, too, because she knows that he wouldn't be talking about this kind of stuff seriously with anyone other than her.

"I'll do it," he says, when she's worrying about how she's going to have enough time to prep appetizers _and_ make dessert. He's already going to be setting up, but whatever. He doesn't mind having to bake. He's actually pretty good at it as long as there are instructions.

She smiles widely. "You really love me, don't you?"

He chuckles and says, "Of course," because it's true and it has been since that summer they spent with everyone at Liz's vacation house, before they went off to college. It just took some time for him to actually say it, and ever since, he hasn't been able to stop. "I love you," he tells her, and she leans across the table, says it against his lips before kissing him.

... ...

She hasn't worn a lot of black since the funeral, which is…

It's mostly for Preston's sake, really. He never said anything outright about it, but she knows that the color made him uncomfortable right after his dad's ceremony. She started being more cautious about what she wore around him, and eventually, her wardrobe just ended up having less black and more color over the years.

She didn't know Mr. Winters much, and the fact that he was involved with the people that caused her and her best friends so much trouble the past two years (and _that's_ putting it lightly) didn't exactly make her like him. But she's not inconsiderate or anything. Even if Preston had been confused about his father after learning about his position in the Circle and what he'd been doing, he was still his _dad_ and he'd grown up knowing him as an entirely different man. She doesn't think that, even in sin, she could ever truly hate her parents, no matter how strained their relationship will ever get. If there's anything Gallagher Academy has taught her, it's that loving someone hard enough really _can_ get you through the worst.

Maybe that sounds cheesy, but whatever. Living through what they have puts things into perspective.

Anyway, even though the funeral had been almost five years ago, she's still a little surprised to find this lacy black dress in the back of her (massive) closet. She figured she'd gotten rid of things like this by now.

"Kind of depressing for a Friday lunch, don't you think?"

Preston comes to stand behind her, pressing his chest against her back and a hand over her hip, and she debates saying that they should just not show up at all, make something themselves and spend the day lazing around the house and ignoring their phones. Getting invited to these luncheons is just a courtesy because her dad's a politician and his… _was_.

They'll hardly be missed.

He reaches around her and picks another dress up by the hanger—white with lilac flowers along the skirt. She _glares_ at him and he laughs. The dress was a gift and the _only_ reason she didn't return it is because it was from his mother. She's worn it exactly once when their families got together for breakfast on Preston's birthday last spring, and then shoved it to the back of her closet. As something of a public figure now, she hardly ever wears the same dress twice, anyway, so it's a lot easier for her to get away with never wearing the thing again.

"Well, maybe not _this_," he says, putting the dress back, "but, you know. You should wear something more colorful. It's in a _garden_."

"I'm aware that it is." She hangs the little black dress up again, turns to face him and tilts her head. "We have a pretty nice garden outside, you know."

He chuckles. "I know. But we're not skipping out on this lunch. Your parents will be there."

"We saw them two weeks ago." He raises his eyebrows and she rolls her eyes. "You know my mother is just going to rag on us about marriage and kids again and, _ugh_. She's just kind of psychotic sometimes you know?"

He smiles and nods, tugging at the hem of her slip, and she loves that they're on the same page about the topics like marriage and their future and whatever. They've been together for five years now and neither of them needs rings or vows or a grand ceremony that her parents will insist on having or any of that other crap in order to prove that they're not going to step out on each other. He treats her like gold and makes her laugh (mostly _at_ him, but whatever), and she knows not to let go of a good thing when she sees one. Besides, she's _twenty-three_. Marriage is the last thing they need to worry about, and when she's in and out of the country so often for one job or another, it's not exactly wise to bring a kid into the equation. They absolutely don't need to be having this kind of conversation now, especially when they're eating lunch with her mother and dozens of other people in a garden.

"Besides, we still have to pack. Our flight leaves tonight."

It won't take hours for them to pack for a week in London, but whatever. She's just looking for an out. _She_ could skip out on this luncheon and not really care, just give her mother some excuse later and make plans to see her another time, but she totally wouldn't put it passed Preston to feel like it's still his obligation go to the thing even if it's by himself and it'll leave her home alone. She's hardly _that_ girlfriend that needs to be with her boyfriend all the time and doesn't know what to do when they're apart, because that's just pathetic.

But obviously she'd rather hang out with her boyfriend on a lazy Friday morning than hang out by herself.

He gives her a knowing smile. "You really don't want to go to this lunch, do you?"

"I don't," she admits, as if the fact that she's been complaining about it for ten minutes now and isn't even close to being ready even with the thing starting in half an hour weren't proof enough. "So, your girlfriend's going to stay at home and watch TV, but if you still feel like you need to go to the stupid thing, then by my guest."

He laughs, which makes her smile, and then kisses her in the middle of her forehead and asks what she wants to order in for lunch.

"Whatever," she replies, pushes her fingers through his hair and kisses him. "You're awesome for this, you know?"

"I know."

She rolls her eyes but laughs, patting his cheek as she's stepping out of the closet. He follows her down the stairs, poking her side for no particular reason and making her squeal when they're at the bottom step and she's heading for the living room while he's making his way to the kitchen. She throws him a glare that he just laughs at, then plops herself onto the couch and starts flipping through the channels as he orders from the Italian place down the block. It's the only Italian restaurant she's ever heard of that delivers, so it's basically the _best_ one.

She still hasn't settled on a channel when he's sitting beside her, draping an arm over her shoulders and saying that their food should be coming in thirty minutes. She tosses the remote aside once she's tired of browsing, and he catches it mid-air and continues flipping before he finds an HBO channel that's playing _Mr. & Mrs. Smith_.

"You really are awesome for this," she tells him, and he smiles and says, "Love you, too, Mace," because he knows that's what she really meant.

... ...

It's a little strange, honestly, this brunch. She loves that they were invited, of course, and obviously it's really great to see the kids again, though she probably should've stopped calling them that a while ago considering they're all in their twenties now.

This just seems so… so _domestic_.

Not that that's a bad thing, but it's not exactly something she's used to, either. What she's used to is having breakfast on one continent and then lunch on another, carrying multiple currencies in her wallet and passports with different names in her luggage and Joe commenting (complaining) in different languages about how everyone's such a _tourist_. Sitting on a stone deck patio underneath the shade of a huge umbrella, with her sister and her boyfriend across the table from her and Joe's arm draped over the back of her chair and Cammie and her friends filling Grant and Bex's huge backyard… This is the kind of scene you'd see on television, in old movies about people that lived in cookie-cutter suburban homes.

They aren't the kind of scenes she found herself living, and sometimes, a small part of her wonders what the catch is supposed to be.

"Stop," Joe says, low and quiet in her ear, as if he'd heard her thoughts. She smiles and takes a sip of the sweetened peach iced tea Zach had given her. "She's beautiful, you know," he goes on, jutting his chin towards the lawn. "She looks more and more like you every day."

Rachel follows his eyes to where Cammie's laughing about something with Tina Walters and Kim Lee beside a massive flowerbed. She'd curled the ends of her hair and clipped her bangs out of her face, and she's wearing the wedges and designer sundress Macey had given to her as a present this passed Valentine's Day. By the clothes alone, this Cammie seemed entirely different from the one she'd seen walking through the hallways of Gallagher Academy, holding her books to her chest and disappearing into secret passageways.

But she knows that that's her daughter.

Rachel had witnessed Cammie change so much from her first day of high school, growing into a young woman that's full of confidence and enjoying her life. And yet, she'll stop by with Zach to visit, and they'll shoo him and Joe away and share pizza on paper plates in her office and it'll feel as if no time has passed at all. Life's strange that way, she supposes.

"That boy is so dense sometimes," Abby says suddenly. Edward arches an eyebrow at her. "Your son," she clarifies. "He's not unlike his father in that department."

"And why is Zach dense in your eyes?" Joe asks, looking at her expectantly.

"He hasn't asked my niece to marry him yet!"

Joe and Edward both cough at the same time and Rachel swallows down a gulp of iced tea a little harder than necessary, looking at her sister. There are very few people that can startle operatives as highly trained as the ones at this table, but Abby's always been good at surprises.

"Rachel," Abby says, tilting her head, and her tone almost sounds exasperated. "You thought it would've happened by now, right?"

Rachel clears her throat a little. "They're twenty-three, Abby."

"That's hardly even an answer to my question," Abby huffs, and Rachel just shakes her head. "Whatever. I just don't know what's taking him so long. Maybe he's scared to ask?"

Rachel raises her eyebrows, because honestly, she wouldn't have considered that possibility right away. She knows Zach is capable of being afraid of things, but it's always been about the chance of something hurting Cammie. If there'd ever been doubts between them about simply not working out as a couple, they've never shown it.

She looks out over the backyard again. Jonas has a football in his hands and Eva's saying something about picking teams, and off to the side, Zach has a hand at Cammie's waist and is pretending to struggle with pulling her towards the pick-up game that's about to begin just like she's pretending to resist. She's laughing and shaking her head, pulling back a little. He leans forward as if to say something into her ear, but then he lifts her up by her waist and tosses her over his shoulder and she laughs even harder, not at all trying to put up a fight.

"I doubt that's the case, Abby," Edward says. Abby gives him a look. "Maybe he's scared about marrying into the family."

He's _joking_, of course, so Rachel just laughs when Abby rolls her eyes and angles her body away from him. But then he tugs her chair closer and Abby has to brace a hand against his leg for balance, and she sends him a glare that would've made a lesser man tremble. He returns it with a grin.

"I'm hungry," Abby announces, blatantly ignoring Edward as she gets up and walks away.

Edward meets Rachel's eyes and they share an amused smile before he gets up and follows Abby inside the house. He's a smart man, after all.

Joe drinks some more of his coffee, and they both watch as Cammie tackles Zach to the ground as Courtney and Tina's boyfriend run passed them. She props herself up by her elbow and places her other hand over Zach's chest, the both of them laughing again. Rachel chuckles as she watches, and, almost as if she'd heard it, Cammie looks up and catches her mother's eyes. She smiles widely at her and Joe, still laughing, and Zach tilts his head back to follow her gaze, grinning when he sees them. Joe chuckles and lifts his hand in a wave.

"Would you let her?" Joe asks. Rachel looks at him and he smiles, still watching Zach and Cammie. "They _are_ young, but…"

"They already know what they want," she agrees. "Even if I disapproved, I don't think that'd really stop them from eloping. She's—"

"Stubborn?"

"Determined," she corrects.

"That's definitely true." He looks at her, finally, a smirk at the corner of his lips. "Though, I hardly think Ms. McHenry would even allow them to consider eloping."

Rachel flashes a smile, remembering exactly how the girl had been when they'd left her in charge of _their_ wedding. It's funny now, but only because the experience is over with. But in Cammie's case, she'd have to deal with Macey _and _Bex, and even Liz can definitely be forceful when she wants to be.

Instead of telling him all of this, though, she takes another sip of her iced tea and says, "_Ms. McHenry_ would be mad if she heard you call her that. You're not their teacher anymore."

He laughs, shrugging one shoulder. "Habit," he admits, then pulls his arm from the back of her chair, pats the top of her knee and asks, "Split a slice of cheesecake with me?"

It's stupid, really, but she bites her lower lip a little and _almost_ feels like blushing. She knows that he noticed her eying the cheesecake in the kitchen when Grant was slicing it up for everyone to eat later, and considering Joe has a taste for black coffee and 85% dark chocolate, she hardly think he's asking because he suddenly has a sweet tooth.

So she grasps his chin with her fingers, turns his head to face her and kisses him on the lips instead of replying, because honestly.

If that's not love, she doesn't know what is.

... ...

She's home before him, which isn't that big of a surprise since her flight was shorter and she probably didn't stop to pick up pastries from the little bakery a few blocks down right before they were about to close up. It's kind of late to be eating anything, especially sweets, and he knows that Liz got all the girls on this crazy diet thing, but whatever.

They'll make tonight an exception, and he was sure to stop by a 7-11 and pick up a bag of peanut M&M's in case he needed something extra to bribe her with.

The bottom floor of the house is empty when he's walking through the front door, but he knows she's home, because her luggage is sitting on the dining room table and her coat is draped over the back of one of the chairs. She has this thing where she never unpacks right after coming home from a mission, no matter how late or early she gets back, and she'll just set her stuff aside in plain sight like this so she'll remember to get it done later. He doesn't think it's for any reason other than just _not_ wanting to unpack right away, but it hardly bothers him. He's not a compulsive neat-freak and neither of them ever really makes a mess in the first place, so he knows she won't just leave stuff lying around for too long.

He leaves drops his shoes off on the rack by the doorway, leaves his luggage with hers in the dining room and puts the box from the bakery onto the kitchen island before heading upstairs. He can hear the sounds of whatever movie she's watching in the master bedroom.

She _beams_ at him as soon as he's through the door.

_God_, he loves her. He always had. He just never thought he'd actually ever reach this point, where he comes home to her or she comes home to him and it seems so natural.

"You're late."

She's still smiling at him, though, so he thinks she's not really upset about him not being punctual. She's wearing knee-high socks and pajama shorts and an old shirt he thinks was her dad's once upon a time, sitting cross-legged on her side of their bed and hugging a pillow to her chest like she always does when she's watching something.

"I brought you something," he tells her, bracing a hand against the headboard as he kisses her cheek. "It's downstairs."

"I figured as much," she says with a laugh. "Why couldn't you have just brought it up?"

"Don't be lazy."

"Don't dodge the question."

He chuckles, pulling the pillow from her arms and tossing it aside onto the mattress. "Come on, Gallagher Girl." He presses their foreheads together, tucks his fingers through her hair and watches her eyes flutter closed right before he slants his lips over hers. She lets out this little sound from the back of her throat, the one he's come to love so much, and the blush in her cheeks feels warm against his skin. It makes him smirk and kiss her harder. He loves that, even as adults, he can still make her blush like when they were sophomores.

"Hmm." She opens her eyes slowly as he pulls away, giving him this _smile_ that… Well, he thinks twice about pulling her out of this bedroom. "I'm still not walking downstairs."

"I can work with that."

He hooks one hand underneath the bend of her knees and his arm around her shoulders, and she lets out a laugh as he lifts her off of the bed. She shifts a little to make herself more comfortable, hooking an arm around his neck and leaning her head against him. He chuckles as he turns and heads out of the bedroom.

"If you wanted to be carried," he tells her, "you could've just asked."

"And _you_ could've just brought the dessert upstairs." He can practically hear her smiling. "You smell like a bakery."

He grins, and then laughs once they're in the kitchen and Cammie practically jumps out of his arms when she sees what's sitting on the counter. He stands behind her as she works off the ribbon holding the box closed, laughing again once she's gotten the lid open and dips her finger through the whipped cream of a cake square. He remembers that first semester when he'd see her around the halls of Gallagher Academy, eyes always scanning and calculating, and he wondered (not in a creepy way) what she's like when nobody's around, when she's not a spy or a student and she's just _Cammie_. Now he sees this side of her all the time and he thinks it makes him fall in love with her all over again each time.

And that thing where he thought she'd put up even a little bit of fight against eating sweets at 10:00 at night? That's totally tossed out of the window when she picks up a custard tart and bites half of it off without hesitation.

He wipes away the crumbs at the corner of her lips with his thumb and she turns a little, holding the other half of the tart up until he opens his mouth and lets her feed it to him. They probably looked ridiculous, her in pajamas and him still fully dressed, stuffing their mouths with pastries in the middle of their dark kitchen, but whatever.

Late-night snacking has kind of become their thing.

"So," he says, once his mouth isn't full anymore, "how does breakfast in Paris and dinner in Rome sound?"

"Sounds extravagant," she admits with a laugh, sounding amused. "Why?"

"Well, I was thinking how Grant and Bex's brunch was the first time in a while since we've gone out of the country for a personal reason." He pushes her hair over one shoulder and presses a kiss at the base of her neck. She hums lightly, leaning back against him. "And it made me realize that it's been forever since we went on a real, extended vacation."

"It has. You know, you don't have to seduce me into agreeing on taking a vacation." She tilts her head back to meet his eyes, smiling knowingly. "But that does feel nice."

He chuckles, presses his lips against the underside of her jaw. "Noted," he says against her skin. "So, what do you think of two and a half weeks and all of Europe?"

"It's a start." She turns to face him, sets her palms against his chest and smiles. "I want to go _everywhere _with you," she tells him, and he kisses her, places his hands over hers and feels her kiss him back a little harder when his thumb swipes over the fourth finger of her left hand, like she knows he's promising so much more than just a trip around the world.


End file.
